Music Producer, Songwriter & Artist

Intro
Y’all boys know what y’all here for. I don’t want to see no shifting, no lollygagging, no running around. Now I’m gone say it like this. I ain’t come here for no play. I ain’t gone say it again. You heard me? Now get in line.

Verse One
I refuse to just settle for your weekly checks
‘Cause I still be feeling pimped when my cash ejects
To you your hand, now understand why I stay on salty
‘Cause Sam is in my hand, playa back up off me
I came to get it crunk, I came to let it hang
I came to give y’all bump, I came to do my thang
But dang dog, I can’t find a pot to piss in
Medicare’s in my face and FICA’s riffin’
They said get to work, cause you just tripping
Then they let me go, before my pension kick in
It don’t seem right, but who’s to listen
When the shareholders dividends got them hissing
And you still wonder why them big boys be flipping
You still wonder why them little broads be tricking
You still wonder why the homie chase this chicken
‘Cause folks do thangs then they money get missing

Hook
They asking why we hating on this system, here we go
They asking why we grinding out here steady chasing dough
Well it’s part of getting free and yes we tired of the floor
So Lord will you please help us, ’cause it’s time for us to blow
(Repeat)

Verse Two
I got my middle finger up ’cause these hoes don’t play fair
My sister got a job, but she struggle with day care
My homie got a job, but he struggle with race there
They wonder why it’s hard; Man, look at our place here
I had this little gig, it paid a little cheddar
They said, “boy you got a good job,” – yeah, whatever
I would work; I would slave; I would earn my pay
But then get jerked for a raise when they learned my ways
See I never got down trying to be they buddy
‘Cause when backs get turned cats do get cruddy
Yo talking ’bout stacks, figures do get muddy
That’s a fact, watch ‘em act when who get money?
See my man on the struggle pushing week to week
His boss keep him bent over, pushing cheek to cheek
But I ain’t mad, go to work playa, feed your seed
Just remember, there’s a place that each can see

Verse Three
So keep your picket fences and Visa cards
Next thing you’ll try to have a playa leasing cars
So I can pimp my ride in my “sweet” garage
But I see your little tricks, that’s a cheap mirage
I came to get paper with a deeper cause
So my momma ain’t really have to keep her job
So I can lobby on the Hill with some decent odds
So my niece leave this piece with accounts at Schwab
See the new form of slavery is economic bondage
Corporate America, sometimes I want to bomb it
Take ‘em to the block, let ‘em all see the carnage
Go tell ‘em get straight, and finish what you started
Politicians need a back hand (really, okay)
These corporations need a back hand (really, okay)
This inner city needs a cat scan (really, okay)
Now get your dough and put it back man (now let’s play)